


The Hunter's Green

by lucius_complex



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Jötunheimr | Jotunheim, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-03 08:17:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1068165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucius_complex/pseuds/lucius_complex
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nobody is quite sure who is more eager for Loki’s coronation; the crown prince of Jötunheimr, so he can finally get rid of the tiresome migardian advisor that his father had foisted on him, or said advisor himself, so he can finally go home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KimliPan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KimliPan/gifts).
  * Translation into Français available: [The Hunter's Green](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2324309) by [Nordremo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nordremo/pseuds/Nordremo)



> A/N: This work falls well into AU territory so I’m taking extremely artistic liberties with Jötunheimr, where Jotuns are not frost giants but just another race of people like the Aesir except more magically minded, and dark haired and lean where the Aesir are fair and stocky. Trade and diplomacy (a version of it anyways) is already well established between Asgard, Migard and Jotun. Stark’s home planet is perceived as a genetically weak but progressive society, well-regarded for its entrepreneurship, artisans, and random bursts of breath-taking creativity. 
> 
> Part of the Frostiron Fest on tumblr and gifted to KimliPan, who wanted Tony and Loki together at court. I hope my offering pleases you, and a very merry Xmas :)

 

 

 

**THE HUNTERS GREEN**

**Part 1**

As far as Tony Stark is concerned, King Laufey’s corridors are too long, too cold, and too bare. They were little more than a winding two hundred meter long cul-de-sac; with no furniture to pile into a barrier or set on fire should the need arise, no nooks to spring from to surprise an enemy, no statues from which to launch an assassination attempt.

He shrugged off the familiar irritation as he moved swiftly along, passing bare pillars and walls that held little more than the occasional seiðr-enchanted torch. Many an argument had taken place between Tony and the king about the scant security of his palace halls, many and pointless. Tony would not bother to rehash them again when all Laufey would do was get back on his high horse and remind Tony yet again how the might of Jötunheimr lies in their seiðr skills and that all else would simply get in the way.

Tony does not doubt this claim. He has had a year to appreciate for himself the stealth and formidability of Jotun’s seiðr wielders; a year to be thoroughly envious of the seeming effortlessness of the miracles daily performed. But on principle alone he felt the obligation to call out on this over-reliance.

As he had once learnt the hard way himself. _Always_ overconfidence, before a great fall.

But then again, Laufey _did_ have an army that even Asguard would think twice of challenging. Within the palace itself dwelled the Imperial Guards, trained in both the highest forms of physical combat and magelock. Beyond this, keeping the peace of the king was an army so strong and so fearsome of repute that it was whispered throughout the Nine Realms that they werent normal men, that Jötunheimr’s seiðr wielders had created for Laufey a non-human army by breeding a monstrous hybrid known as ‘frost giants’. All of Jötunheimr knows this to be untrue, but as rumours went it could only elevate the perceived performance of his soldiers, hence the king was happy to perpetuate the bloodthirsty repute of his military force.

And so the corridors remained bare, cold, and _dangerous._ Senseless, considering all Tony had to do was install a couple of security cameras and all who come and went, their slightest mutterings and most unconscious gestures could be poured over and neutralised. But Laufey had said no.

In in any case, matters of security fell beyond Tony’s jurisdiction or influence. As far as the king was concerned, the midgardian advisor only had _one_ job, and it was one he had so far not been satisfactorily discharging.

But then even Laufey knew that Tony’s task, the one reason he’s been forced to endure these endless and impossible winters, was an impossible one. Hell, the entire _court_ knew, as they usually did whenever the crown prince of Jötunheimr was involved.    

A phalanx of imperial soldiers marched past him in their blue vests and silver spears, followed by groups of youthful scholars and middle aged civil servants, indigo robes rustling. A few of them inclined their heads at the Advisor to the Crown Prince, but most Jotun officials tended to ignore him, viewing his midgardian skin and outsider’s proximity to the royal family as offensive. Tony had long ceased to be bothered by their toothless snubs. He had bigger challenges on his hands than the puzzlement of mouldy old council members or the aggrieved pride of a handful of noble houses who had felt overlooked when Laufey had looked beyond Jötunheimr for help in reining in his only son and heir.

Speaking of which; _the devil himself arriveth_ , if the din spilling out from the beyond the corridors was any indication. Tony moved to the side of the corridor window as the gates burst open, letting in a racket more suited to a carnival than the meeting halls of kings. Around him the feebler or more disapproving members of the court hurried out of the path of the encroaching party, whilst others turned to watch and speculate. Tony, observing the spectacle of his charge’s entry, could barely refrain from rolling his eyes. The prince’s train of lackeys, toadies, and assorted hanger-ons are an exceptionally noisy and extravagant one even by Asir standards; trailing chaos, outrage and a sudden dearth of virginity whenever they went.

Prince Loki was as usual, the most conspicuous amongst his peers in his bright green velveteen cape amidst a sea of blue. He wore a feathered cap today; a bright and verdant triangle pulled rakishly over one eye, trailing feathers two feet high into the air. In other words, Tony thought he looked foppish, shallow, and utterly witless; a strolling bulls-eye for anyone who cared to shoot him down. 

Tony gritted his teeth and waited for the crown price to pass by before stepping out of the curtains and slipping alongside his charge. Loki flared at his sudden presence beside him, tediously predictable charge that he was.

‘Ah look, if it isn’t father’s favourite Migardian pet.’

‘I did not know you required quite so many subjects to feel safe around your own castle, my prince.’

Loki's face, aside from a brief flash of annoyance, remained as smooth as a stone. ‘A future king should have his entourage.’

‘You mean sycophants.’ Tony snorted. ‘Shall you dismiss them, or do we continue to speak in their undoubtedly trustworthy company?’

Loki laughed, freely and easily, throwing back his head to reveal a throat as smooth and white as one of the snow-covered mountains of Jötunheimr.

‘That they keep me insulated from the tedium of your company with their bird-like chatter is merely incentive.’ But he gestured obscurely at the Jotun noble beside him; a third son from the house of Nelpeh if Tony’s memory served, and through some discrete signal Loki’s entourage fell two steps behind, and eventually remembered an appointment elsewhere. Aside from Tony himself, nobody else seemed to notice the deliberate nature of this separation.

Tony raised an eyebrow. ‘Impressive.’

‘No less than you taught me, oh teacher mine,’ the prince of Jötunheimr grinned. ‘So you see, my little circus has its uses.’

Tony sighed. The prince might be as arrogant and intractable as they come, but at least he had his lackeys well trained.  

‘Loki, everything the ice touches will have use – bricks, sword, even manure. I have said before; it is easy to be good, better to be good for something, but it is _most important_ to be good within the context of that which is necessary.’

‘So you have said before,’ the prince said idly, and his inquisitive fingers ran like lightning along the blood-red trim of Tony’s aquamarine and azure cloak. ‘Why were you hiding behind the curtains like some old maid?’

Tony inhaled sharply at his rudeness and proximity and clenched his fist. Although he knew that the prince thought nothing of touching his person - or indeed any person - Tony himself had never gotten used to it, even after a year. He bore the assault without complaint, but had it been on earth that Loki dared to be so familiar, the prince would have found himself at the pointed end of a laser gun.

‘I’d hope that you’d learn some discretion and follow suit, instead of stomping around the castle announcing your presence long before you arrive, but I suppose that’s wistful thinking,’ Tony fell in line, matching the prince stride for stride despite Loki’s longer gait. Which he knew Loki deliberately lengthened all the more, the better to irritate his advisor with.

‘It is a little early in the day for a lecture yet, and I sneak around _fine.’_

‘Only because you rely too much on your magic,’ Tony muttered, and never enough on your wits.’

‘That is all fine for a mortal with no seiðr to say. I am proud of my magic-‘

‘And I have said again and again, both to your father and yourself; Jötunheimr does many things right, but it has always done one thing consistently wrong in allowing the over-reliance on seiðr.’

At this Loki draws himself up, arrogance in every line of his bearing. ‘I am two thousand years older than you, my father king times seven even of that, our civilisation is as mighty as the Aesir if not more, and hundreds of times craftier and more self-sufficient than your human ones. Do not presume to question our policies, especially a non-magic wielder like yourself.’

‘Kind of hard, as I’ve been hired _especially_ in my capacity to criticise. Take it up with your father.’

‘You spare yourself a great deal of spite if you could simply accept that it is precisely our seiðr skills that places Jötunheimr at the pinnacle of the Nine Realms in power and sophistication.’

‘I see,’ Tony pursed his lips. ‘Is that why an _entire_ company of soldiers and a tavern full of civilians saw the Crown Prince of this _pinnacle_ sallying out of a wrenching house in a dress, pursued by riffraff?’

‘Baseless duplicities,’ Loki lied smoothly and easily, a skill that never failed to rouse Tony to great heights of irritability.

‘Not when the witness reports are as numerous as the stories of melons rolling out of your ample bosom’

‘They were grapefruits,’ Loki had the audacity to correct with a grin. ‘Melons are much too heavy for escaping on a horse.’

‘Nevertheless, your father has caught wind of these… _duplicities,_ and is currently waiting for you in his usual study to bring him news of the _truth.’_

Loki’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘I hope you have not been carrying tales.’

 ‘I hope for your sake that what we’ve been hearing are _only_ tales.’

 ‘I swear Stark, your sermonizing grow longer and more tiresome by the day. Pray tell, is there some internal standard which you set yourself? A schedule perhaps, like a daily constitutional?’

‘I would find no need to hound your steps, if you but bothered to apply your mind to your lessons instead of skipping out on meetings every few days and wading waist deep into the nearest form of trouble you can find.’

‘My dear Advisor. As I’m going to be King in a matter of days one would think a man of your calibre should know better than to make sport of me.’

‘A matter of days, yes. But not today.’

‘Rest assured that as soon as the weight of the crow touches my brow, Jötunheimr will no longer require your services,’ Loki’s smile was sharp as thorns. ‘And we can finally be rid of each other, good tutor.’

‘I’ll throw a party next week after you coronation, I promise,’ Tony’s answering smile was just as cutting. ‘Now off with you, before Laufey pops a vessel waiting.’

‘I like your robes,’ was all Loki bothered to say as goodbye. The grin the prince shot Tony as he veered off sharply, heading for his father’s study left an unpleasant sensation in his stomach, pricklings of peril at being winded into yet another one of Loki’s hare-brained schemes. 

Tony looked down at his garments doubtfully, for Loki was perfectly capable of enchanting his clothes to turn pink or fall off at importune moments. He pinched and prodded but they remained the same pale wash of blue, much lighter than is normally favoured by Jotuns. Tony's robes where almost the colour of the palace walls; the colour of the ice that blanketed Jötunheimr in vast fields of aquamarine hues. All of Jötunheimr wore robes of varying shades of blue, dyed to various degrees by the indigo Jatmar flower that was one of the rare blooms that thrived in the frozen, inhospitable world of the frost people. Only the poorer members of society had a tendency to adopt lighter colours to save on dyes, but Tony liked the fact that it rendered him near invisible amidst the palace environs.

If he had to be limited to wearing only blue, he would do it _his_ way, fashionable sentiments be dammed.

Although he wasn’t the only one.

If Jötunheimr only wore blue, it was with one palpable exception. Prince Loki favoured _green_ , imported at great expense from the lands of Alfheim and worked on by Migardian tailors before being shipped to Jötunheimr. Loki’s robes were the deep forest hues of Tony’s homeland, with random concessions of indigo trims and a navy mantel that he wore upon sufferance whenever foreign dignitaries were about. They were frequently embroidered with gold or inlaid with jewels, sometimes even flowers, and his costumes were frequently the talk and toast of the more vapid sectors of society. So much did Loki seemed to thrive on his reputation decadence and superficiality that everyone including the King had long given up on convincing the prince to tone it down.

Tony had spent months drilling into him the importance of not flaunting his privileges, especially so near to coronation, but Loki has ever been insubordinate to instructions. If anything, his wardrobe had only grown increasingly superfluous in the months leading up his crowning.

The Jotun prince and his questionable fashion sense were impossible to control; rebellious, conspicuous; utterly and _gleefully_ shameless.

Tony recalled him once having even walked around the palace naked after a rather harsh confrontation with his father, upsetting council ministers and making maidens scream and dive for cover.

Needless to say, King Laufey had not won _that_ particular round of argument.

Thus Loki continued to strut around in his hunter’s green - colours that matched his eyes and set off the moonstone quality of his skin - colours he made so much his own that some have started calling it ‘Loki’s Green’, and would not suffer to be seen in anything else.

*

The king’s favourite study was a humble and bare affair. Situated low in the belly of the palace, it was little more than a cavernous room supported by beams and a large fireplace, with long tables that was more often than not strewed with daggers and maps.

‘Have you no shame?’ Laufey was demanding stridently as Tony slipped quietly through the door. ‘Your coronation in mere _days,_ and still you are spotted cavorting in filthy taverns, dressing up as _womenfolk-_ and _you_ -‘ the king turned his eardrum-splitting shelling to Tony, ‘you were supposed to watch over him.’

Tony folded his hands. ‘The prince can be a peacock most days, but he can be evasive as a sparrow when it suits him.’

Loki turned his sardonic expression to him. ‘Your zealousness at my defence quite overwhelms me, dear teacher.’

Laufey didn’t look satisfied. ‘Perhaps I should send you to Miguard as punishment, to better observe their ways. Migard has endured; for all the inherent weaknesses of their species, they have found a way to thrive.’

‘So have vermin,’ Loki drawled, ‘but you’re not suggesting we emulate their ways.’

‘Loki, you may be taking over the crown in a week but you will nonetheless hold your tongue and _learn_ from the voices of experience. It is the only way to rule.’

‘Father, you are overwrought. Tis was but a jest, and many has come and gone between Anthony and myself.’ He turned to Tony, expression more supercilious than ever. ‘I do _beg_ pardon for my disrespect, o learned one.’

‘Pardon accepted,’ Tony allowed a small, ironic expression to slip through which the prince caught and returned. Loki has _never_ apologized and meant it. They had played this game so many times their words were all but rote.

‘Father, Jötunheimr is at its pinnacle. Our seiðr is the most advanced and powerful it has ever been.   As midgardian he would not even know the ways of seiðr. How will he instruct me of anything? How can an outsider truly understand Jötunheimr?’

‘Once again, it pains me to see how little you have learnt. You form your opinions too quickly, my son. That is not good for a king, and if Anthony has curbed even a fraction of your ever-ready prejudices, it would be currency well spent. I think a spell away from those whom you usually spend your time with will do your pride a world of good.’

The son’s eyebrows shot up in displeasure at this pronouncement. ‘But my lord well knows, I am to be crowned in days-’

‘Since the rest of the court is engaged in making ready for your crowing and I find you ever loafing about, playing tricks on the industrious even as you idle- you will instead shadow Anthony in his final round of duties.‘

Loki’s face begun to heat up. ‘Father, I beg you-‘

‘You will accept this final command as your last, Loki. I wish it.’

Tony slipped in before argument between them escalated again. ‘Your majesty-’

Loki turns furious eyes on Tony, glinting a green so fay the mortal temporarily lost all thought.

‘Do not think I’m not aware that this blatant intervention is _your_ doing.’

Tony smiled crookedly. ’Yes well, good of the realm et cetera – don’t worry my prince, it isn’t a permanent sentence. Not to mention a mere matter of days before I pack up my bags and never darken your door again.’

He didn’t expect Loki’s eyes to grow even colder at this reassurance.

‘Very well. But when I am king you can keep you infernal counsels to yourself,’ Loki snapped with a shallow bow, before stalking out and slamming the doors shut behind him

Laufey sighed at the antagonistic air left behind in his son’s wake. ‘I should have remarried after his mother died. At least I would have a wife to blame for the way he turned out.’ The king turned his cold silver eyes at Tony. ‘What say you then? Well? Speak!’

‘Your son is not ready for the throne.’

‘I did not ship you here at great expense to tell me what I already know. Your task was to see to his readiness, and you have had a year.’

‘And he has improved much within that year, would you not say so?’

‘Not enough!’ Laufey slammed his fist on the table. ‘Not nearly enough. His brain is full of tricks and tomfoolery, and not enough on matters of state!’

 _And whose fault is that for having spoilt him so?_ Tony thought, but he was not so foolish as to share this. ‘I can lead a horse to water, your majesty, but it is upon him to quench his thirst.’

‘Then it is your job to walk him past desserts so he will drink more readily,’ was the king’s rejoinder. As if it were so simple, when the horse in question was of royal breeding. One whom, once he occupied the throne of Jötunheimr, would controls one of the most powerful military forces in the nine realms, and god alone knew what Loki would do it with.

‘You could always delay his coronation.’

‘But if I could. Our wayward ‘horse’ has been chomping at the bit all year.’ Laufey scowled. ‘And I would have _my_ son crowned before Odin’s golden brat. You have one week left to influence him. Do what you can.’

Tony laughed incredulously. ‘What do you expect me to accomplish in seven days that I could not in the last twelve months?’

‘You might not have seiðr, but you are no _normal_ member of this court,’ Laufey raised his eyebrow. ‘Do what you must, and let the chips fall where they may.’

‘And if the price is high? If the price is _blood?’_

The king of Jötunheimr paused at this, but not for long. ‘Then we shall have to pay it. It is too late for anything else.’

‘Very well,’ Tony inclined his head.

‘Do not forget, I gave you a year in hiding. You know what I want in return.’

 _You presume much,_ Tony thought, but all he said as he took his leave was, ‘I will endeavour to deliver, my lord.’

‘He will make a good king,’ Layfey sighed as he waved Tony away. ‘I know it. Yet time and again the boy refuses to admit his own potential, for reasons I myself grow too old and impatient to discern.’

Dismissed at last, Tony slipped out of the palace through the side portcullis and wandered the circumference of the wallwalk alone. From the outside, Jötunheimr’s palace was a monolithic thing, with a minaret in the shape of a pentagon and naves akin to a basilica. Its brick façade was completely wrapped in ice to give it an appearance of rising out of the snow; a citadel permanently sheathed in winter.

He took in the view, committing what he could to memory as it was his last week. It seemed to Tony that the vista before him grew more beautiful each time he saw it. Most of the citadel’s upkeep was maintained by seiðr. Unlike earthlings, the Jotuns did not enjoy flight and often teleported instead, but they were great appreciators of a good view. Hence turrets that arched high into the skyline, gabled and crowned with transparent pediments that fractured the weak sunlight into crystalline prisms within.   

It might have taken him some time to appreciate it, but Jötunheimr _was_ beautiful. For all its sophistication and magic, there was something wild and free in the Jotun spirit, even as they strived to their utmost to tame it.

The inhabitants of the icy world favoured uniformity over uniqueness, subtlety over the ostentation of their Aesir neighbours, magic over melee. In that sense, their crown prince was an anomaly, regarded by his people with much bemusement. But whilst he could afford to be an object of bafflement and wonder as prince, more was necessary for a king to be taken seriously.

And Loki unfortunately does not take anything seriously.

Any fool could see that for all his tricks and wily ways Loki was loved by his people. He was master of seiðr, with a particular affinity for visually dramatic magic. He carried himself well and maintained enough swordsmanship to lead Jötunheimr’s substantial platoon of ice warriors without shame. Being the only son of a king had instilled in him a self confidence that was nigh unshakable.

Loki had a sense of the theatrical that would well suit him in ruling; an art that often engaged the subtleties of acting, orating, and the careful application of timing to both. But like anyone artistic and spoilt, he also suffered from hypersensitivity, restlessness, and a notorious temper. And he had yet to display even an ounce of the responsibility Tony knew him perfectly capable of.

One thing he was certain; it was going to be a _very_ long final week for Tony Stark.

*

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

 

 

 

**THE HUNTERS GREEN**

**Part 2**

The next two days found Tony saddled with a sullen prince who dragged his feet to whatever summons he was directed towards. His companions were banished to the hall of hynds to keep them out of the way, where they proceeded to divest the castle of drinks and complain loudly at their boredom and mistreatment.

The entire citadel was being turned upside down in last minute preparations for the coronation. The atmosphere was festive, the inns solidly booked, the markets crowded with new and exotic goods. Only a fool however, would miss the tension and expectancy that practically vibrated in the taverns and town centres.

Tony dragged Loki from meeting to meeting; and in between there were fittings, daily apprises, lists of tithes to approve, and titles of nobles to memorize. And, of course, certain lords to pay respects to, receive fealty from, or subtly threaten.

This last task was especially onerous as his charge had a mouth like a runaway train. Which he was now using to dress down the _very_ shocked archduke of Helspar. With a barely muffled sigh, Tony screwed his patience to the sticking place and sailed in to extract the prince, who barely deigned to notice his presence.

‘But these Migardians will sell anything for a price!’ the archduke was protesting.

‘At least that makes them good for something, rather than old men who sit in too much comfort and expectation for services repaid long years ago,’ Loki replied tartly, twirling a lock of his bafflingly permed and pomaded hair, green highlights twinkling like stars.

‘What the prince _means_ to say, my lord, is that a young king-to-be such as himself would be interested in learning as much as possible from a variety of circumstance and persons, including your good self,’ Tony interrupted smoothly. ‘That would include a notion of such customs and _relationships_ that should be best maintained for the good of the realm, of course.’ 

‘When a tradition outlives its usefulness it should be dropped, with something new to replace it,’ Loki added drolly, the feathers on his head bobbing like snakes that Tony wished he could wrap around the prince’s neck and strangle. ‘My _midgardian_ tutor taught me that, a good lesson for which my father paid him very well.’

The Archduke’s gaze darkened on Tony. ‘It does not escape our attention that our prince has had his ears filled these past months with an outsider’s counsel. Have a care how much you listen to one whose loyalty is on loan, your majesty.’

‘Loyalty!’ bobbled the feathery snakes. ‘Now _there’s_ a trait that’s hard to come by.’

‘Indeed, and my prince should choose instead to place his trust in the noble members whose loyalty has already been proven,’ Lord Helspar instructed condescendingly. ‘Rather than men who whispers their secrets to whomsoever cared to pay the highest. It is the way of these humans to value the glimmer of the coin above the clarity of their conscience.’

‘I shall remember to thank you for being the protector of my naiveté when I am king.’ Loki’s voice was all silk, his face expressionless as he swept imperiously out, curls flouncing and trailing viridian plumes.

‘Idiots,’ he raged as soon as they were out of earshot. ‘The first thing I shall do as king is shuttle them to the outermost regions in Jotun to rot.’

‘Well you sure gave ‘em hell,’ Tony shook his head, reluctantly amused. ‘I’m hardly bothered, so what makes you so riled?’

But Loki was ranting, not listening. ‘-nothing more than a drain on my resources, they should be thrown from the tower lancets, where at least their carcasses could feed the birds.’

‘Sometimes I wonder if you’re an Aesir mistakenly dropped on Laufey’s lap by mistake, with all your bloodthirsty posturing.’

‘Sacrilege,’ Loki shuddered, ‘-to be surrounded by so much gold and metal that one’s head is either spinning or rusting.’

‘You need friends,’ Tony said firmly, ‘-allies beyond the networks your father has secured you. New lords, with lands and power to replace the assorted toddies that you used to hang out with.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous Anthony, those so-called toadies of mine were _never_ friends, _’_ Loki scoffed. ‘They served a purpose and shielded me from ridiculous expectations, no more, and they did it in the hopes that I would someday remember the favour and elevate them from their fixed roles as minor siblings with no inheritances.’

Something akin to pity touched his brow. ‘Well. I like to think _we're_ friends. After a fashion.’

There was a funny look on face of the Jotun prince before his features smoothed over. ‘As much as one can be with the hoi polloi. Of course you are so very tedious, and so terribly old-’

‘You’re over two _thousand_ years old; by my standards that makes you practically a mummy.’

‘But what a horribly attractive two thousand year old mummy I would make,’ the Jötunheimr prince replied cheekily, and for a brief moment Tony had no words.

‘Self-compliment is no compliment,’ he finally says.

‘Ah, but to be so envied for my dashing looks _is_ rather complimentary, wouldn’t you say?’ 

‘I supposed that was too good to pass up, even for you.’ Tony said good-naturally.

The answering smile on Loki’s face was incandescent.

*

It was interesting to reflect that whenever a person was needed to be the bearer of bad news, the buck always stopped with him, Tony thought. Interesting, but hardly surprising, seeing as nobody else wanted to come within hitting distance of the crown prince when he was riled, including his father king.

Tony himself hated visiting private rooms, but he supposed in this case there was no help for it. It was a questionable sort of consolation, but Tony would rather deal with Loki’s temper behind closed doors than in one of their many miles of public corridors. That is, if his dratted charge was even in his chambers memorising the names and positions of the delegates attending his coronation like he was supposed to, and not out gallivanting.

On hindsight, he should really have known better.

Luckily for Tony, the crown prince was in his chambers. Unluckily for him, the prince had also deemed it perfectly acceptable to receive Tony whilst lounging on a pile of furs with only the tiniest loin cloth for cover, so that the first thing he saw upon walking in was endless miles of snow white skin on display.

Face burning, he folded his arms and stared at the ceiling. ‘Christ Loki, throw some clothes on.’

The prince did no such thing of course, and continued eating pomegranates and grapes from a silver basin with one hand, whilst his other was idly stroking- _fuck._

Tony hurriedly turned away, cursing under his breath. ‘A new low even for you, your royal crassness.’

‘Since it is you who came barging into my chambers,’ Loki sighed, voice heavy with indolence and _something else_ that Tony was not going to listen too closely to, ‘I can only assume you meant to join me.’

The mortal didn’t need to take his eyes off the ceiling to know he was being made fun of.

‘You needn’t be buck naked to eat some lunch.’

‘Ah, but how else should one be when pleasuring oneself?’ Loki all but purred, his voice a river of sin and filth that made every hair on Tony’s body stand on end.

 _‘_ C _lothes,_ Loki. Put some on.’

‘I drown in disappointment. I had not thought you to be so modest. Migardians have a reputation for being such warm blooded creatures, after all.’

Nonetheless Tony heard the sounds of furs being rearranged and breathed in relief. It didn’t cease fuelling the visions that his imagination supplied to make up for the empty spaces; images of white skin slithering through a bed of fur and the indolent heaviness of dark eyelashes over rare eyes the colour of midgardian emeralds.

‘You’re terribly hard to please,’ Loki sniffed when he finally turned around. ‘You sigh at me in my clothes and you sigh at me out of them. Tell me Anthony, is that the real reason for why you remained unmarried at your age? Fifty is considered rather _advanced_ in your society, is it not?’

Tony did not rise to the bait. ‘You already know my _real_ age and abilities, and further from that, you need not know,’ he said shortly. ‘I am here to tell you about the Asgardian entourage that will be visitin this week to pay their respects to the future king. ’

‘Future king, I _do_ so like the sound of that. Let’s have everyone in the court address me that way for the remainder of the time. Why must we entertain the hairy ungulates a week before we have to? Let them come and bow at my feet during the coronation.’

‘Trade contracts, Loki. Not everything that is happening this week is about you.’

‘Yes it is,’ the prince replied smugly.

Tony rolled his eyes. ‘The agreements that your father has been working on with the Aesir for the better part of the year have finally come to pass. Odin is sending an emissary - which we have good cause to believe will be Thor himself - to personally deliver the contracts to you. It is highly likely that he will stay through the week for your coronation as well.

‘So whilst the rest of the realm plays nursemaid to me,’ Loki archly surmised; ‘I am to play nursemaid to the golden-haired gorilla of Asgard.’

‘Always knew you were sharp.’

 _‘Why_ is father _doing this_ to me?’ Loki moaned into the sheets.

‘It makes sense to tie your realms together by trade. You have much in common, your countries border each other and you are both the only heirs of your fathers. You are expected to attend most diligently to him once he arrives.’

‘Aligning ourselves with the _Aesirs,_ of all races. _’_ the prince said tartly. ‘What would be the point?’

‘To see that you inherit a realm locked into relative stability. With so much gold and resources tied up between both your states, neither you nor that equally untried heir of Odin’s will be able to risk plunging your realms into chaos once the contract is signed; Laufey has seen to it.’

‘Laufey, or yourself? Why do I have a feeling this was your idea instead?’

‘Your job is simple,’ Tony told him in place of answering. ‘Try not to start a war.’

‘Why Stark, I’m the soul of placidity,’ Loki protested, and when Tony levelled his best disapproving look at him, scoffed; ‘Surely you do not counsel me to fear that great brutish oaf!’

‘Not fear, but wariness,’ Tony countered, ‘and not of Thor, but Odin.’

‘Why should I be afraid of an old man? It will be mere months ere he gives up the throne, same as my father.’

‘Throne or not, Odin will continue to play his games behind the veil of diplomacy. He has deliberately raised his son to be tractable and gullible, the easier to control upon his own succession. In any case you should pity Thor, for having a father so ruthless. Fear Odin my prince, as any man of good sense should.’

‘Pity the son of _Odin?’_ Loki threw up his hands, which Tony, well aware where they’d been moments before, tried his best not to look at. ‘Seeing as you have already tied my hands and strung it to the rafters, I am forced to go along, but the day I pity any offspring of Odin’s will be the day I renounce the throne and go begging into the streets.’

‘Loki-’

But his charge had stopped listening. ‘Why am I forever being cornered into policies that the both of you have devised in my so-called _favour_? Do you intend for me to take over a throne bound so tightly in legalese that I shall have no choice but to follow the course you set? Am I to be another Thor?’

‘Hey hey hey,’ Tony raised his arms. ‘Don’t shoot the messenger. Just be nice to Thor for a week. Then he goes home and you both get to leave each other alone until the next war breaks out, by which time I’d hopefully be enjoying my retirement.’

The crown prince continued to glare, but Tony knew he’d won. For now.

‘I promised to play nice, not that _you_ play fair. Now leave me be,’ Loki said, eyes already fluttering shut; ‘unless you wish to lend your warm earthling fingers to the task I have at hand.’

‘Ah. Suddenly I’m remembering a pressing appointment.’

Ears burning, Tony fled the chambers, chased by the sounds of Loki’s throaty chuckles.

*

 _They could not be more different,_ Tony reflected from his place half hidden behind the canopy of the throne room.

Thor strode down the icy palace of the Jotuns as if his feet spurned the ground, the expression on his face proud to the point of self-congratulatory. The son of Odin was muscular and barrel chested where Loki was lean, clunky where Loki was serpentine, bold and expressive where the Jotuns advocated discretion and refinement. Even Thor’s flaxen hair swung wildly around whilst Loki’s midnight locks were always bound into place.

Throwing the two of them together was going to be a recipe for disaster, Tony knew. There would be little to reconcile such opposing personalities: the only thing these two princes seemed to have in common was their arrogance and the fact that they were sole heirs, marked for greatness from birth and heavily invested upon by their respective kingdoms.

Outside of that, the two princes were as ice and fire.

Loki sat sprawled over his father’s throne in a way that made Tony want to tie him to a hard plank of wood, so that he may learn to sit straight for once. His ridiculous attire of the day was covered in a riot of lime green feathers from collar to cape, paired with silver skin tight breeches and of course, yet another ridiculous hat that made Tony despaired of the laughing stock Jötunheimr would become when Loki took over the throne.

The prince listened to the Aesir delegates carrying on about the honour done to their countries, what a wonderful time they'll have, ad nauseam – all the while effecting a mask of boredom that he’d perfected over the past year of forced attendance in Laufey’s open arbitrage sessions, fingers pulling out the feathers from his cape from the sheer monotony of it all.

‘Your great courtesy so overwhelms me, o’ Asir prince,’ Loki intoned in a voice as dry as bone when the ambassadors were finally finished, ‘that I can barely stand.’

The Aesir delegates frowned in confusion and looked at each other, unsure if they were being complimented or insulted.

‘We are delighted you find us so engaging,’ Thor finally replied awkwardly.

Tony supposed the whole thing could have gone a lot worse.

*

Actually, it did get a lot worse.

‘Prince Loki, show us the toy we have heard so much about,’ Thor had hollered across the dining halls at supper the following night. ‘The midgardian you keep in court. Tis said you trot him out for functions as a conversation piece.’

Seeing Loki’s eyes narrow, Tony stepped out of obscurity before the prince could say something insulting and plunge Jötunheimr into war. 

‘Prince Thor. My name is Anthony Stark, advisor to the crown prince of Jötunheimr. I am at your service.’

‘He is not at _your_ service.’Loki all but bit out. Irritated, Tony frowned sideways at the prince, who glared back like a child whose favourite toy was being examined by others.

‘Ho! You know you are a famous thing indeed, to have survived so long in the coldest court in the Nine Realms.’ Thor turned, blond hair swinging, to grin at Loki. ‘Does he do tricks?’

 _‘Tricks?’_ Loki echoed in a dangerous voice, eyes narrowed into cold green slits.

Thor however, was too obtuse to notice the offense he had given. ‘Ho! Perhaps I should ask mine father for one as well, they seem to be a most sort-after thing. Or perhaps you shall come to witness the splendours of Asgardian court life, where the sun shines all year round, the mead flows free, and men may take three wives.’

But Tony was apt to read Loki’s moods, and he recognised the cold fury forming in the wake of Thor’s words.

‘Thank you for the generous offer my lord, but I’ve always been fond of the cold. Perhaps with the onset of my first bout of rheumatism I could consider a nice cottage in your kingdom.’

‘Say the word and I will set you straight!’ Thor boomed charitably.

‘Perhaps it is you who needs to be set straight,’ Loki interjected in tones bordering on frigid, ‘with such _updated_ notions of hospitality.’

‘I’m not sure I like your tone, Jotun prince,’ Thor’s voice hardened.

‘I’m not sure I care one whit whether your delicate sensibilities take offense, my lord. In fact,’ Loki leaned down, eyes glimmering with barely suppressed rage and malice, ‘seeing how it appears I shall be king before you, perhaps I shall pay your ah, _shining_ kingdom a visit as soon as I am able, if only to see you bow before me in your own halls.’

‘How dare you speak to me thus? I, who is your equal and heir to Asgard!’

‘I may have to be cordial to a prince,' Loki said, voice dripping with disdain; 'but it is a King I have to respect, and you are not one yet.’

‘My Aesir friends, let us leave this shamefully inadequate hall,’ Thor growled, standing up. ’I find I have lost my desire to continue fellowship with Jotuns tonight.’

‘Well. That went well,’ Loki uttered blandly once the door slammed thunderously in Thor’s wake.

‘Could you not see,’ Tony pinched the skin between his brows, ‘that Odin has sent his son here specially to provoke you?’

‘Then all of Asgard must be proud that their prince has been _wildly_ successful at his task.’

‘Granted he’s a little brash, all of Aesir is, but he barely insulted you. If anything his overtures of friendship were genuine, until you threw it back in his face.’

 _‘I_ was not the instigator of this insolence, as anyone with eyes would be able to see,’ Loki complained.

‘Nobody remembers who cast the first pebble, they remember the one who escalated a conflict. If you would be king, you must learn a king’s courtesy. If you create a diplomatic incident mere days before your own ceremony, not to mention before Thor even signs the agreement of your fathers, you risk the rea-‘

‘It is not my fault that Odin’s brat is an idiot and a sore loser.’ Loki retorted in a voice layered with insolence.

Tony could feel the coming ons of a migraine. ‘Just. Get him to _sign_ the damned contracts first, before you further provoke him. There are eyes and ears everywhere; loyalties changing hands like coins every day.’

‘By the nines, Stark, I will _get_ your confounded signatures, as promised,’ Loki husked in the most petulant voice imaginable. ‘You’ve out-maneuvered me this time. You shall not succeed subsequently.’

‘True,’ Tony inclined his head. ‘A few more days hence and you’ll have power to behead me, I know.’

‘Or, to chain you indefinitely to my bed.’

Tony frowned. The prince’s innuendos had grown more blatant over the familiar months, but these last few weeks they’d acquired an almost vicious edge.

‘There is no need to be crass.’

‘As you keep reminding, I am little if not crass,’ Loki went on to dismiss him in tones oddly heavy for such casual words. ‘Rest well, Anthony.’

‘Goodnight, my prince.’

Tony held himself very stiffly as he returned to his chambers. He made sure the doors were securely locked before leaning against it and sinking his fingers into his forehead.

Behind his eyelids, visions of Loki burned.

He had been afraid of this. Had feared it as much as he resigned to its inevitability. Had feared it from the day he laid eyes on the prince, truth be told. But these were naught but the fantasies of his heart, erratic and meaningless; and there they must stay, to die in the dark where they belonged.

He would not give them room to grow. 

*

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

 

 

**THE HUNTERS GREEN**

**Part Three**

Tony planted his hands on the table, obscuring the documents the prince had been perusing and forcing Loki to look up at him.

‘I’d have thought you’d be pleased to see me study.’

Tony yanked his documents away. _‘Did_ you steal that apple?’

 _‘Stark!_ I was reading that!’

‘Don’t Stark me. Did you steal that apple?’

The crown prince shrugged. ‘I fancied it for a paperweight.’

‘You-‘

‘I’ll return it,’ Loki promised with a negligent wave of his hand, ‘unless of course, you wish to take a bite and join me in semi-eternal life…’

 _‘This_ mortal shell couldn’t shed fast enough for me,’ Tony eyed him flatly, before sighing. ‘If you had merely asked, they would have been obliged to present one to you, as future king.’

‘And what would be the fun in that? Besides if the oaf was so clumsy as to leave it unguarded, he deserved to lose it.’

‘Do you ever listen to a thing I say? Your tricks will be the death of me.’

‘That would be tragic, you make my heart quicken so. Perhaps I shouldn’t return Thor’s apple after all, and keep it for such a day.’

Instead of answering, Tony gestured at the door with a long suffering sigh. ‘I think you’ve spent long enough in hiding, shall we face the hordes?’

‘I wasn’t hiding,’ the prince immediately repudiated.

 _‘Hmmm,’_ was all Tony said as he opened the door wide for Loki to sail scowling through.

It was a damp evening, which made it especially cold. Even the inner sanctums of the castle were lightly misted, giving the space a surreal, secretive air and the prince himself an ethereal glow. He would have looked stunning, had the effect not been spoilt entirely by the loud, floor-sweeping brocade jacket Loki wore in lurid green and yellow, embroidered on the chest with the royal crest strewed with gemstones. Tony wondered how he moved around at all.

‘I’m surprised nobody has thought to clear the fog, considering we’re still playing hosts to the Asir tonight. It’s going to be a clammy evening.’

 _‘Good,’_ Loki spat. ‘Perhaps all that iron and armour they favour so much will rust.’

‘You’re one to talk, walking around wrapped up in this… trapezium of rhinestones and… carpeting.’

‘Clanking around the hallways encased in a _caldron_ is hardly my vision of heightened taste.’ Again Loki’s fingers darted out to run quick fingers against the silk tunic Tony had traded his plain cotton robes for in honour of the evening feast. Some days Tony swore the prince saw him as an exotic pet to be poked and prodded at in fascination. Touch him and he moves. Wind him up and he speaks.

‘Can you not have put on something a little more festive? Everything you wear is always so plain,’ the prince complained.

‘My prince’s attire is festive enough for both of us. Indeed, one fancies his attire is festive enough for the entire court.’

A reluctantly smile escaped the prince, although he had clearly wanted to remain expressionless. ‘Touché. I shall see you at the so-called festivities.’

‘Give ‘em hell. And try to stay awake this time.’

‘I sleep perfectly adequately with both eyes opened, as you know very well,’ was the prince’s parting palaver before he walked away.

Tony merely sighed and made his own way to the great hall.

*

So this is what the famous midgardian war strategist Tony Stark had been reduced to - clomping through the snow in furred boots, looking for his absent prince.

How the mighty has fallen. Tony would laugh at his current circumstance, had he not freely chosen it himself. Although he supposed he should be thankful that he was merely _looking_ for Loki, and not scraping him off some corridor floor.

All things considering, the feast had started off remarkably well. Thor and Loki had glared daggers at each other, but the presence of the king had muted their antagonism to no more than an occasional jibe, and Tony had taken every opportunity to enjoy the peace, knowing it wouldn’t last.

The crown prince had clearly not been enjoying the feast, spending most of the night glowering into his plate. The looks he threw at Tony promised a protracted bout of petty vengeances, and Tony had mentally resigned himself to waking up to snakes in his bed and having his wine transformed into horse piss.

Just as he had predicted, troubled had started when both princes had vanished somewhere between the sixth course and desserts, when the rest of the court had been high in their cups or too busy attempting to peer up the skirts of the serving wrenches. It was common for Loki to disappear during functions, but Thor hadn’t taken any of his comrades with him, and Tony had watched their faces grow uneasy the longer the princes stayed away.

At first opportunity he’d exchanged looks with Laufey and slipped off to access one of the castle wide scrying bowls, dragging a scowling seiðr-wielder from the feast to help him look for the prince. His agitation increased tenfold when Loki proved nowhere to be found within the castle walls – and neither did Thor.

So here he was now, he who had once held so much power in his gauntleted hands that whole nations fell silent when he raised his voice; here was Tony Stark, wandering in pitch darkness outside with a supped up midgardian flashlight in one hand and a laser gun in the other.

At least his clothing had been enchanted to protect him from the chilly air.

So far no Loki. Knowing the prince, he might well have challenged Odin’s brat to a duel, and Tony kept hoping he would eventually turn the corner to find them pummelling each other along the mantlet wall, rather than tripping over a dead prince. He didn’t find himself relishing the rest of his days in a cold Jotun cell.

With only three days left till he returned to earth too. Whoever Jötunheimr’s lady luck was, she didn’t like Tony very much.

There were no such thing as satellite or cell phone lines in Jötunheimr, and communication of any distance relied exclusively on seiðr, which left someone like Tony cut off and helpless without a seiðrmandr by his side. Nearly all of Jötunheimr had the basic ability to weave basic forms of magic. This self sufficiency, coupled with their xenophobic tendencies, made them inhospitable to the great potentials of new technologies.

But seiðr could not be performed when a Jotun needed it most; if they fell ill or injured, and this was what Tony feared.

He swore to himself that when Loki was king, Tony would force his charge to adapt midgardian technologies whether he liked it or not. If anybody could shove an unpalatable idea down the throats of his people and make it stay, that person was Loki.

Tony mistrusted the overt silence of the night, so he kept his laser gun loose and ready in his hands, ready to slash open anything that threatened him. His boots kicked up pebbles and ice, the stinging discomfort in his eyes berated him for not bringing a pair of infrared goggles.

And then he saw Loki lying motionless in the snow, and for a brief moment Tony felt the cold enter his bones as it never had before, felt his lungs seize as if he would never breathe again.

‘Loki-’

Then he heard a groan from the snow, and his heart resumed beating. He unpacked the flare he had thankfully thought to bring along and shot off three blasts of coloured smoke. Then he ran to the prince, hauled the heavy body against him and slapped him awake.

‘Loki, wake up. _Wake up, wake up_ , you’re not king yet, you can’t just fall asleep anywhere you please.’ The need to keep his own fears at bay made Tony talkative and brusque. ‘Its sacrilege. What would the neighbours say?’

Loki finally opened his eyes and Tony was transfixed. Oh, _such_ eyes. So much light and movement.

 _‘Of course_ it would be you,’ Loki finally broke the silence with his cryptic whisper, and then proceeded to cough up a storm. His robes were soaked, black strands of hair coming unbound and hanging all over his face.

‘I have summoned help, but it will be some moments.’

‘As you can see I’m just lying here,’ Loki laughed ruefully, ‘-in absolutely no hurry at all.’

‘Do you remember what happened?’

 _‘Thor_ happened, as you well can guess. I didn’t see him but I am certain t’was him who sneaked up on me. When I came to my seiðr failed me – I believe his hammer might have had something to do with it.’ Loki grunted. ‘You are permitted to gloat that you told me so, in the absence of witnesses.’

Tony picked the wet strands of hair from his face. ‘What could _possibly_ have persuaded you to go outdoors in the middle of an officious event?’

Loki’s eyelashes dipped knowingly. ‘You intend to accuse me of that which I’ve seen you sneak off to do countless times? Suffice to say I was bored.’

Tony fell silent and held on to his prince. He was well aware that it must be the headiness of relief that made him weak, that tore down the barriers of proprietary between them and allowed him to cradle Loki close with such familiarity. He couldn’t bring himself to care. Shock made strangers of one’s selves, and he wanted – needed – to hang on to Loki a little longer to reassure himself. In the aftermath of panic it was surely a forgivable thing. Just as it could only be disorientation that made the Jotun prince run his hands along Tony’s arms and absently mummer ‘so warm’, almost to himself.

‘Have you evidence of Thor’s hand against you?’

‘No, I didn’t even hear him coming. The gorilla is wilier than he looks. When did you think to look for me?’

‘It wasn’t like you to miss desserts. And judging by the girth of him, it probably wasn’t like Thor either.’

Loki’s eyelashes fluttered close with a small smile. ‘Ah. I see.’

Tony shifted uncomfortably. ‘Try not to kill yourself in the few remaining days I have in your service, my prince. The entire kingdom has been looking forward to your coronation for some months now, and I fear my neck wouldn’t survive its cancellation.’

Loki gurgled and grimaced with laughter and pain at the same time. ‘How kind of you to be so invested in my state of health. Would you weep for me? Miss the ice prince if he breathed his last upon your lap? It would be rather picturesque. I fain think the maidens would weep over such a picture.’

Tony’s hands tightened on the cold forehead. ‘Don’t jest on your deathbed, Jotun prince. Your father will be furious, I may yet find myself clapped in chains.’

The sardonic mirth was instantly wiped of Loki’s face. ‘Which is why we will tell him nothing of what transpired.’

‘Laufey must know. If Thor has directly or indirectly lifted hands against you, it changes everything.’

‘You know father can be less than rational when it comes to his _darling_ son. He did hire _you,_ after all.’

‘Nevertheless, I am telling him. We needs be prepared of contingencies.’

‘Dearest Advisor. You worry so overtly for the affairs of others, yet I’ve never once seen you worry about yourself-’

‘I do that behind closed doors.’

Loki’s smile if anything, grew wider. ‘What else do you do behind closed doors?’

He lifted his hands from Loki’s temple but slim, impossibly fast fingers held them back down.

‘Leave it there. The warmth comforts me.’

Tony allowed his hands to settle but their forced proximity discomforted him. Disordered as Loki looked, weakened and injured, he still had an unnervingly magnetic presence about him. For someone whose pride and body had recently been battered, Loki seemed overly contented to remain where he was, where usually he would be all vitality and malice, spitting vengeance and calling out for blood. Tony did not trust this new and mellowed out prince, although he supposed anyone who had been clobbered over the head with a mythical hammer would be in the mood for some respite.

He watched the heavy rise and fall of his chest, and swore in a low voice. ‘If he is truly responsible, Odin will pay in blood for this.’

‘Be still my heart.’ Loki’s bloodless lips curled into a weary smile on his lap. ‘Is the tiresome peacemaker advocating mayhem at last? Such a moment will be sung about for long decades.’

‘A show of strength, and a warning. Vengeance has it uses.’

‘You know I have no witnesses, and a war will start if I accuse Thor of attempted murder.’

Tony shook his head. ‘He never intended to kill you, merely to see to your humiliation by missing your own coronation.’

‘Indeed. A trick almost worthy of _me.’_

The mortal scowled. _‘Must_ you take every opportunity to jest?’

‘I would rather make love, but seem to suffer a lack of enthusiastic candidates,’ Loki’s eyebrows arched. ‘Unless you wo-’

‘By the nines, Loki, I will be glad when your coronation comes round and somebody else gets to deal with your filthy mouth.’

‘Ah yes,’ Loki’s voice fell into a whisper, oddness creeping into his voice. ‘Your services end upon my crowning.’

‘Just as you’ve always looked forward to,’ Tony teased, deliberately light. ‘An end to my lectures at last.’

‘Yes.’ The prince simply agreed, and fell silent. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask what weighed so heavily on Loki’s mind, but he sensed now was not the time to ask.

He stilled in shock when he felt the back of Loki’s hands brush his cheek, and for one brief, terrifying moment he thought that the prince would bridge the distance between them.

‘You are a multifaceted thing, Anthony. Reflecting what’s around you, much like a mirror. What caused such a change in you I wonder, who was once so powerful? What lies behind this wa-’ 

Abruptly Tony brushed his hand away. He would rise, place as much distance between them as possible, if it wasn’t for the weight of Loki’s head locking them in place.

‘I didn’t think you knew so much about my past. You never asked.’

‘Not till recently,’ the prince admitted quietly. ‘Will you tell me?’ And for long moments they stayed frozen in place, suspended from the pressing weight of reality by the misty veil of falling snowflakes.

Tony looked away first. ‘There is little to tell. I used to have an army at my disposal. I no longer do.’

‘Your legion of Iron Men, I believe. Robotic fighters, armed to the teeth and hired out on merchanary terms.’

‘Yes.’

‘I heard you destroyed them yourself.’

‘I did.’

‘A king with no country, who discards his own army. _Why?’_

He had no idea that he’d kept quiet for so long, until Loki finally spoke.

‘I did not mean to infringe on your privacy.’

‘I don’t begrudge your curiosity, my prince; I simply- it would have been easier if you could read my mind.’

‘Seiðr does many things, but it has yet to permit the reading of minds-’ a not-quite smile played upon the bow of his lips; ‘-nor of hearts.’

Tony is saved from answering when the castellan and a phalanx of guards suddenly appeared in a flash of light and sulphur.

‘What _wonderful_ timing you all have; I was just hankering for a spot of supper,’ the prince commented drily over the flurry of attention he suddenly received.

‘My lord is hurt, lets us bear you down to the infirmary-‘

‘Prince Loki, your father would be most aggrieved-‘

‘Sire, do the culprits still abound or would they have esca-‘

‘Peace! Enough. Bear me back to my chambers,’ Loki commanded. ‘Bring Stark along, and say nothing of what transpired.’

Tony held out his hands. ‘I needs go back and inform the king-’ 

‘No, you are soaked to the bone as I,’ Loki said, grunting as he was assisted by his personal guards onto his feet. ‘Castellan, make sure the human is taken back to his chambers for rest.’

‘Your command, my prince.’

Before Tony can open his mouth to protest, a dark blue wave of magic flows through him like an electric current, and he finds himself dripping into his bedroom floorboards.

‘I fucking hate magic,’ he sighed to himself before stripping off his soaked boots and crawling into bed.

Word reached him the following day by way of the castle Stewart that the Asgardian prince had managed to appear almost immediately after Tony had left and been fast in conversation with Laufey himself the rest of the evening. The news dampened Tony’s mood but didn’t surprise him. What truly irked him was the cold he caught, which resulted in an entire day wasted in his solar, sneezing and trying not to think about the Jotun prince and the moment that had transpired in the snow. And if in his darker moments he wondered if there was a branch of seiðr that could make one fall in love – well, it was not a thought he ever needed to share.

And in the meantime, Tony plotted vengeance on Loki’s behalf, laying delicate trails and planting red hearings that would make the Asgard prince think twice about running amok in Jötunheimr with his hammer again. It occupied him and gave him a bitter sort of satisfaction, for at least here was something he could _do._ A problem that could be fixed.

But there would be no cure for the hollow weight in his chest, no cure for the bitter, unspeakable longing that had recently invaded his heart, Tony knew. He would just have to _endure._

He had but two nights left to spend on Jötunheimr without giving into temptation or disaster, and Tony knew he could survive this.

He must.

*

Since the night of his rescue Loki had barely spoken more than two words to him. The prince was close-mouthed and diverted every time Tony happened to run into him. His attire remained as foppish and ridiculous as ever, sewn with garish pearls here and clusters of velvet flowers there; but served only to highlight the tightness his features had suddenly acquired. Tony didn’t protest, because his newfound gravity made him seem more kingly, as if weighed down by the affairs of Jötunheimr, and such a look could only do more good than harm.

But in his heart of hearts, Tony chaffed at this silence from his prince.

Perhaps Loki had been embarrassed at being found lying face down in the snow. Likely he had regretted their shared moment of intimacy. Doubtless he was too busy with last minute preparation for the coronation tomorrow. Tony took it all in stride, the castle that had suddenly shrunk under all the additional guests it now housed for the ceremony, the coldness from the prince, the sneering faces of the other castle inhabitants that informed him that they would be glad to see his back after the coronation tomorrow. He finished the last of his duties, handed over the rest, and as the day’s light slipped silkily away, he found himself pausing more and more often to look out onto the skyline he would soon sorely miss.

At the very last minute, he decided to blow off the royal dinner, and damn be the consequences of skiving out on the biggest bowing-out festival of King Laufey.

In a spur of madness, Tony decided to celebrate on his own. He laid out the accoutrements for his all his favourite drinks, lit a cigar and filled the chambers with 60s American Jazz music. He threw off the plain blue Jotun robes he had been wearing for a year and buttoned himself into a charcoal suit and tie, wincing at the way it now hung off his frame.

And for the crowning touch, he sent for an entire tray of cheeseburger, delivered by teleportation and nano reassembly, for which Laufey would pay a stupendous amount of money, and carried the whole thing onto the balcony to watch the last sunset of Jötunheimr.  

Fuck social niceties. He’d say goodbye to the realm he’d admittedly come to love in a far more meaningful way; by filling it with coolest vices earth had to offer; alcohol, nicotine, and monosodium and hydrogenated transfat.

There was probably a very good reason why Jotuns lived five thousand years and earthlings didn’t.

Idly, he wondered if Loki too would have taken the time to look out of a similar balcony and ponder the skyline if he hadn’t been stuck in celebrations. It was not only Tony’s last night in Jötunheimr, in many way it was Loki’s too.

Tony knew the prince was ready to take the crown, no matter what his father thought. What he regretted not asking was whether Loki was ready to leave everything _else_ behind: his playful youth, his hopes and dreams. It was too easy to forget that behind the vessel of this future king laid a complex heart, frequently torn between duty and defiance.

He saluted a cheeseburger to the sky. ‘Here’s to you, Jötunheimr. Take care of our Henry V.’ 

‘Who is Henry V?’

The voice that suddenly spoke up behind him, slightly hesitant, made his heart stutter.

Tony exhaled. Exhaled, took one last look at the sky, and turned around. ‘Shouldn’t you be celebrating?’

He could tell Loki was examining every inch of him with a consideration he had not spared before, and the act exposed him, exposed the way his heart sped up at the perusal.

No. No. He could not hope, could not allow himself to react.

‘You look,’ the prince said almost guardedly, _‘different.’_

‘Migardian clothes.’ Tony spread his arms. ‘This is how we look on earth. Well this, but less fancy.’

‘It looks much better than I expected. And what is that vile incense you hold in your hands?’

Tony chortled at his distasteful expression. ‘Cigar. You’d know if you had bothered to visit Migard once, as Laufey had incessantly nagged you to. ’

‘Perhaps I shall find new incentive now,’ the prince mummers. ‘Do I infringe on time you would prefer alone?’

Unaccustomed to the sudden gravity between them, Tony cleared his throat. ‘I was just watching mother nature close shop for the evening. Join me for a drink?’

‘That would please me,’ Loki said, but there was hesitation in him. A carefulness that made Tony feel inexplicably sad.

They watched the last of the sunset together; hues of blue and yellow from the land and sky that melted into green in the middle, vast and somewhat melancholic. When there was nothing left to see Tony lead them both inside and picked up the gift he had set aside earlier for the prince. ‘For you.’

‘A book,’ Loki mused, stroking the cover with bemusement. ‘Who is this Henry?’

‘A prince. You’d find much in common, I’m sure.’

‘He must be a handsome devil.’

Tony snorted. ‘The devil part is rather spot on. He started out pert and playful, allied himself with the most lunatic fringe group of the lunatic fringe groups, and finally gave it all up to be a good king.’

‘As far as lessons go, that was rather lacking your usual subtlety.’

‘Have I ever been subtle?’ Tony enquired. ‘Besides, seeing as the keys of the treasury shift from Layfey to you from tomorrow, I won’t be paid anymore so you’re on your own.’

‘I shall endeavour to live up to your expectations.’ The prince pocketed the book and dragged a finger through the scarf Tony wore. ‘I like this.’

‘It is yours,’ Tony removed it from his shoulders to place it with uncharacteristic thoughtfulness on Loki’s shoulders. He was forced to go much nearer, stand on tip toes just to loop it around the future king’s head. ‘A token from earth; it may help you recall your lessons when I am gone.’

The prince looked away, his fingers playing absently at the cloth. ‘It is green.’

‘Yes,’ Tony cautiously admits, allowing this answer and no more. He would not admit the evidence before them as plain as day; that the colour was exactly the shade Loki himself favoured, the colour Tony had in all his months here taken pains to avoid on his own person, to show only disapproval or reservation for.

The prince looked around the room. ‘Are you so eager to leave that you could not bear to spend one last night in the company of Jotuns?’

‘I would have joined the party eventually. I wanted to celebrate.’

Loki’s eyes narrowed into green slits. ‘Alone?’

The mortal shrugged. ‘Where I come from, to do both in the space of one night is common.’

‘I see. And are these ridiculously looking implements your celebratory utensils?’

‘Well- it’s a very specific process. Sit. I’ll show you.’ Tony shrugged out of his jacket and begun to roll up his sleeves, conscious of intense green eyes on his every movement.

‘This is what we call Absinthe-’ he lightly touched the intricately faceted bottle and waved a hand over the paraphernalia laid out before them, ‘-and the implements are known as absinthiana: slotted spoon, brouilleur, reservoir glass.’

‘What are these?’

‘Sugar cubes. Put one in your mouth.’

Loki did, and almost went into shock at the taste. He chewed slowly and licked his lips.  ‘Strong.’

The glimmer of sugar on his mouth would be very sweet. Tony forced himself to look away. ‘What’s coming is stronger. Watch.’

He then proceeded to demonstrate the preparation process of l’heure verte; dripping cold water through sugar cubes into the reservoir of green spirits below to release a perfume of herbal aromas.

‘The spirit itself is distilled of wormwood. Its gotten mentions in the bible, nods from Pliney, and purports to kill everything from tapeworms to bad breath-‘

‘Green as well,’ Loki contemplated as he swirled the glass within his slender fingers.

‘Don’t flatter yourself, you didn’t invent the colour wheel.’

‘This clouding effect is interesting.’

‘Its called louching. Sip slowly,’ Tony cautioned before lifting the glass to his own lips. ‘It is strong even by your standards.’

Unheeding of his own advice, Tony knocked back his drink. Anise coated his tongue before turning into rust-flavour earthiness at the back of his throat, where it proceeded to singe a path down to his stomach.

‘This is a pleasant surprise,’ Loki’s eyes teared, but he looked pleased. ‘It warms the body very well and would work splendidly for the colder months. I shall have this ‘absinthe’ and all its fussy accoutrements imported from Migard. We shall make it the royal drink.’

‘God help the state of your country’s affairs within a month. Absinthe is not known as a delirium fabricator on earth for nothing. Too much of it scrambles the brains.’

‘All the better, I shall import it and ship it off to Asgard and have Odin pay me _to ‘give them hell’,_ as you so like you say.’

‘I suppose if it takes a bottle of spirits to finally interest you in the affairs of trade, then by all means. By the by, it might be worth noting that we have a little something known as a vice tax back home. You might consider introducing both and bolster up your coffers.’

‘Profit _and_ vengeance,’ the prince purred. ‘You _are_ a master indeed, Stark.’

Again, the mood abruptly changed between them. Tony could see Loki’s eyes dilating, clouding like the absinthe louche he had just demonstrated. There was so much electricity in the room that Tony was surprised their hair was still lying flat.

He began packing the glasses away with hands he willed to be steady. ‘Its late, your majesty. You should take the bottle with you.’

A hand pressed the pale green bottle down just as Tony’s fingers wrapped around it, cold palm brushing against his fingers, and the mortal looked up at burning eyes.

‘You know that is not what I _want.’_

‘Please. A souvenir.’

‘Anthony-’

Why was it happening now? Why tonight, when he had less than twenty four hours to go?

Tony stood up, reaching down a hand that Loki instantly took. For all that he was so very cold, he burned Tony's hands with a vitality that he almost couldn’t bear.

‘You should go.’

‘You seek to give _me_  an eviction?’

‘I have still a few hours to do so yet, so best make the most of it.’

Loki stood but refused to release his hand. ‘I do not know why I feel like this,’ the prince suddenly said unhappily, with much unwillingness. You have plagued my every step for a year, I should be more than happy to finally be rid of you. Yet on the cusp of our parting you are come suddenly to plague my dreams.’

Tony tried to step back from the cold hands that suddenly found their way to his face, thumbs caressing idle circles into his cheeks. He dared to meet those eyes only for brief moments, before looking away. ‘You are the king.’

The prince didn’t seem to hear him, face drawing nearer, his thumbs drifted down to press open the corners of Tony’s lips.  ‘I have a few hours yet where I am my own person.’

‘Loki-’ In desperation he pushed. _‘Don’t._ Don’t.’

Loki’s brows pinched at the rejection, but he gradually drew away.

‘Oh, _Stark_ ,’ Loki murmured, his smile bitterly humorous. ‘As always you seek to deny me, in council and out of it.’

‘Tomorrow you will be king,’ Tony whispered, swallowing hard. ‘You’ve come too far to throw it away.’

‘Am I? Throwing it away?’

‘Tonight should be about you.’

‘Is it really.’ It was not a question.

‘You want your kingdom of frost and magic do you not?’

‘It is _mine.’_ Loki said with the certainly of those born to an extreme form privilege. ‘But I should be allowed to want other things as well.’

Tony handed him the bottle of absinthe. ‘Then it would seem my prince, that your final lesson on kingship from me - is me.’

‘But you are erroneous for once, o my tutor,’ Loki smiled sadly, regarding him with eyes that reflected his barricaded heart through the prison bars of his own destiny. ‘That was the _first_ lesson you taught me.’

*


	4. Chapter 4

 

 

**THE HUNTERS GREEN**

**Part Four**

By Jotun standards, the morning of the coronation broke bright and clear across the citadel. As was tradition, the rulers of the nine realms would be present to declare their recognition of the continued rule of Jötunheimr under Loki; to bless the prosperity of his kingdom and the fairness of his rule. The Jotun king would then be presented a token according to that king’s esteem.

People poured into the city, dressed in their darkest blues, and surrounding the palace like a murmuring sea. Many of them carried swathes of the blue Jatmar flower. Many more carried tiny sculptures of ice or crystal that puzzled Tony with their purpose.

Weapons had been forbidden throughout the entirety of the palace for the duration of the celebration. The day of crowning was also the day Jötunheimr celebrated her own continuity and the unique gifts that set them apart as a race – and Jotuns identified themselves as seiðr wielders first and foremost.

Tony had enjoyed the discomfited faces of the Asgardians who had been forced to surrender their weapons and armour and walked around furtively rubbing various part of their bodies, unnerved by the sudden bareness of their limbs.

In the throne room itself, the most important men in the Nine Realms were collected; heads of states, generals and grand viziers, religious and scholarly leaders, dignitaries and diplomats. In the middle, standing before the frozen throne of Jötunheimr, stood King Laufey; as stern and cold as if he was carved out of the same ice that surrounded his palace.

Flanking him in a semi-circle stood the current rulers of the other nine realms. Earth, who did not have its single king and whose standing nobody paid much attention to, had been reluctantly represented by Tony.

The whispers died down when the sound of instruments filled the room, signalling the opening of the coronation. A chorus of invisible voices floated in, songs that laced words of magic and history into a breath-taking display of power and artistry. Waves of seiðr in multiple spectrums of blue bloomed in the air; weaved like ribbons through the crowd, invoking blessings upon both company and kings.

As the strains of seiðr fell away, the detachment of Imperial Guards that heralded the new king’s arrival marched through the doors, their measured paces ringing through the floor. Behind them walked several hundred sorcerers in a sea of rustling blue, their foreheads circled with thin bands of gold.

Tony found himself holding his breath as a chorus of ancient languages stirred into the hall again, rose steadily and soaring above them like an exaltation of larks, until the Crown Prince of Jötunheimr finally entered, flanked by two of the land’s highest seiðrmnd.

The hall fell entirely silent as Loki glided in, blue robes flowing out around him like a living wave, etched with blessing runes. From his silver epaulets flowed a train that ran a hundred meters, the colour of the Jotnar flower, trimmed in fur. The muted chorus continued, flute-like and delicate, until the prince came to stand before his current father and the semi-circle of kings that represented the nine realms.

It was the first time Tony had seen him in Jotun colours, and his heart shredded anew at how magnificent he looked. A metamorphosis compete.

Layfey’s crown had been redesigned to suit Loki’s narrower, more chiselled features. Seemingly made of ice, it rose in sharp spikes above his forehead, beautiful and deadly. Like branches of ice crystals; his crown was simultaneously layered in breath-taking symmetry and haphazard randomness - the way nature herself often was.

It was a crown that suited him well; a crown perfect for the type of king Loki would undoubtedly be. 

A benedictor proceeded to read out a lengthy treatise detailing the relationships and standing Jötunheimr had with each of the nine realms; their respective rulers each stepping out in turn to affirm the new king’s place amongst them. Odin’s token was not an apple but a magical chest of sorts – Tony had no clue, but whatever it contained caused a heady ripple of murmuring to break out in the crowd. When Tony stepped out to represent Migard, he held up a Starkphone, one with which he had foolishly keyed his own number into. Compared to the other gifts that Loki received, it was a laughable bauble.

Shame slashed the mortal’s cheeks, but it was too late for anything else as he stepped forward and placed the phone in Loki’s hands, heart pounding through his chest.

For a brief moment Loki looked down, and as their eyes rested on the other Tony thought he saw desire and something else, something that looked a lot like grief. Then he turned away, and Tony stepped back into the circle.

Then the transfer of kingship between Laufey and his heir begun. The ceremony was a deceptively simple one, heart-stoppingly profound and beautiful. Laufey summoned his seiðr, a sleet-white light that glowed in his hands. Raising them into the air, he announced his abdication in a ringing voice to the assembled witnesses and the formal investiture of his heir as the sovereign of the land. 

Then Laufey placed his seiðr-lit hands on the throne, and everyone in the hall gasped as the entire structure suddenly came to life in a burst of white light.

Tony could feel every hair on his body raising at the sudden influx of power, and only now did he realise that the throne had been covered with once-invisible runes, now glowing white. And then the light grew and spread beyond the throne; runes that had laid etched and forgotten on the floor and walls for centuries came alive and glowed with cold fire; spread through the halls and ran along walls and corridors into increasingly widened spheres, until it wrapped the entire citadel in complicated lines of white light.

And Tony, who had thought he had seen it all, had never seen such a thing in his life.

And now he knew why the castle walls were bare – twas no mere scribbling, nothing so simple as a mere spell of protection enloping the palace. This was Jothunheimr’s constitution written across immutable stone. This was a _promise,_  the fealty that the king swore with his magic, and - Tony suddenly realised with a heart that broke open – with his _life._

Then the old king drew his arm away, and Tony watched helplessly as the new king placed his palms, glowing green, into the runes that ran along the arms of his throne - and only then at that moment did Tony truly realise that Loki would _become_ Jötunheimr, and Jötunheimr would become Loki. 

For one brief moment, he fantasised about snatching Loki’s hands away. The world around him fell away, and Tony was drawn irresistibly into a vision of liberation and escape, lost in what could have been, if only he’d been-

If they’d _tried_ -

He clenched his eyes shut. No. _No._ Let it go.

_Let him go._

Tears flowing unchecked, Tony forced opened his eyes; he would not miss this ceremony for the world.

As Loki touched his seiðr to the throne and joined the life-force of his magic to the runes, one long moment the entire throne room glowed _green._ Hunter’s green.

 _Loki’s_ green.

Then it travelled throughout the castle and expanded outwards, momentarily turning the whole citadel green. Its light leaped into the crystal sculptures that the Jotuns held up like torches; glowed like emerald candles in the hands of his people. 

And now Tony knew the purpose of those mysterious crystals from the before. To every Jotun in the land did Loki willingly relinquish a piece of his soul. 

As a ringing cheer echoed through the hall Tony could only think; _he is lost to me._ Then overwhelming grief, the kind of grief that breaks over a person like a wave. The kind of loss he never thought himself capable of.

As the new Jotun king stepped away Tony searched his face for the youthful and headstrong prince he once knew. He found no traces of Loki. The new king’s face was as smooth as glass, as still as stone.

An institution. A vessel to carry forth a country.

He barely remembered the rest of the ceremony after that, but simply followed the lead of his contemporaries and made such bows and uttered such platitudes that sounded most appropriate.

They were eventually ushered outdoors to admire the displays of seiðr lighting the skies, no doubt calculated to awe and impress the foreign dignitaries. From the balconies above young Jotun children threw the petals of their national flower upon the crowd, and trays of food and drink paraded endlessly about. He had a feeling that the six pedestals standing outside, lit with green fire, were no ordinary flares, but a device that carried the new king’s magic through every capital, setting their protection runes alight. 

Tony had always known that the arm of the Jotun kings were long, but he was beginning to realise they were _instantaneous._

He caught sight of Thor, standing behind his father’s shadow, and saw the genuine esteem and shame-faced awe on his face. Ill prepared as he may be, Odin’s son had been born into kingship and would be in a unique position to understand the burdens of a fellow king. That Loki’s burden included relinquishing his magic, perhaps someday his life, was not lost on him.

Perchance one day they may yet learn to be friends.

The rest of the ceremony proceeded to drag at a snail’s pace, with Tony too numb to do little more than walk listlessly around, taking in the glowing citadel. An emerald city indeed, with its own wonderful wizard of Oz. The festivities would last for three days and three nights within the citadel and spiral outwards throughout the regions of Jötunheimr. The furthest regions celebrated for nine days at the expense of the King, to give the new ruler the opportunity to visit every one of his vast and rolling states by teleportation if he wished.

Eventually, enough time passed that Tony could slip away without giving offense.

*

From the balcony Tony watched the night sky turn gradually and imperceptibly into the last dawn he would see on Jötunheimr. Once upon a time, he had hated the fact that there were no real sunrises in this realm - the endless snow making indistinct the position of the sun - blurring the edges between ground and sky. What little light there was would always spread itself slowly and steadily, measured and weak.

When he first arrived he had hated many things about Jötunheimr, not least its artic inhospitability and its lack of proper sunlight. But the ice had worked its way under his skin.

As had the new king, who thawed his heart.

And now the land felt new, refreshed. It carried a brisk, impatient vitality about it. Loki’s vitality. His complexity of character, the sharpness of his beauty, the cold logic of his fine mind; all tools now tuned towards the betterment of a realm. There couldn’t have been a better time for the new king of Jötunheimr to ascend the throne, Tony knew.

He’d deliberately taken as long as he possibly could to pack his meagre possessions, but one could only endlessly rearrange a handful of items so many times before manically laughing one’s head off as Tony soon found himself doing. He’d always been spartan with his material things; most of Jötunheimr would never have know him to be one of Midgard’s richest. To them he had always been the odd human that Laufey had brought on board to broaden the experience of his court.

Nothing more than an exotic collectible, as Thor had pointed out. A circus monkey. A conversation piece.

He was tired. Tired of politics, tired of hiding his true thoughts, tired of the carefulness with which he’d treaded the halls of Jötunheimr these last twelve months. Tired of the knots of longing lodged under his ribs that he dared not free least somebody sensed it and accused him of treason.

Most of all, Tony was tired of himself.

It was time to go home.

He took a deep breath, quelled the jittery misery nestled within him with firm decision and slammed shut his suitcase. It was light in his hands, almost weightless, and the notion almost made Tony smile to himself as he collected his traveling papers from the table – for it was just like him to slip in and out of situations like a ghost.

Except ghosts do not almost collide with recently inaugurated kings.

Tony took a step back, blinking, but there Loki remained looking down at him, silent and considering.

Like a serpent, the king had seen fit to shed his old skins. Instead of green, the king was dressed in plain robes of Prussian blue, its only decorative concession a small band of green at the sleeves: tribute to who he used to be. Instead of his gaudy train wreck of minstrels, he was flanked by two members of the Imperial Guards. 

There wasn’t a feather or bauble or pointless ribbon in sight. The crown glittered on his head, set off the fluid black curtain of hair that swung free from their usual bounds.

Tony could not help but stare in helpless admiration.

A true king and untouchable, Loki stood before him beautiful, glowing, proud. True ruler of Jötunheimr, at last.

Despite the grief, Tony’s heart swelled with pride.

‘Your majesty honours me with his presence,’ Tony slanted his shoulders forward to bow to the king - the better to hide his face - and found his arms seized into a vice-like grip as a voice hissed into his ear.

 _‘Do not dare_ , Anthony,’ Loki snarled, ‘do not _dare_ bow to me.’

Stunned, Tony nodded shakily and pulled away. But the king had not returned his arm which they were both forced to look at, and Loki took to glaring at his iron grip on Tony’s wrist as if it was _his_ fault that they were locked in this unnatural state.

Finally the new king withdrew and cleared his throat. ‘I see you are packed,’ he said stiffly.

‘I see you have finally seen fit to throw off your previous disguises.’

The dour line of his mouth quirked. ‘I have finished reading your Henry V.’

‘That fast?’ Tony raised his eyebrow. ‘Just don’t equate Asgard with France, and you’ll do fine.’

Loki’s dark lashes flicked to the suitcase on the floor. ‘No, definitely not Asgard. They have nothing I want.’

‘Ah. Well, perhaps that might be for the best, all things considered,’ Tony exhaled, and tried to control the slithering consonants of his voice. ‘You will be traveling for the moment, will you not? When does council resume?’

‘I journey until my visitations of the outlying states are complete,’ Loki said with a nod. ‘Council resumes immediately, as I’ve decided to cart them along.’

' _Did_ you now.’

The king spread his hands, an expression of utmost innocence on his face. ‘I felt I could use the company.’

Tony couldn’t help the malicious grin that stretched over his lips, its milder cousin echoed discretely by the king. ‘My, what an absolute  _treat_ it would be for my lord Helspar and the incredible fat archduke of Bindiling to finally get to take in all that _brisk_ mountain air.’

 _Give em hell,_ Tony’s expression said, and knew by the answering flame that leaped into Loki’s eyes and his hawk-like grin that there would be interesting times all around for any Jotun lord who once assumed their positions secured.

The serpent had awakened, glowing green and fierce, and now it would _hunt._

Tony gave a rueful chuckle before picking up his suitcase. ‘I’d give a lot to be a fly on the wall, but I suspect the screams will be heard from Midgard.’

At this Loki shifted on his legs, bidding his time before finally saying, ‘There is always room for one more advisor in my cabinet.’

And there it was, Tony realised, the offer he didn’t know he had been waiting for.

He had come to love Jotunheimr, had he not?

And he had come to love her _king._

Tony swallowed, clenched his bag in his hands and his shattered heart in his fists. 

‘My work here is done. You are ready-’ Tony smiled tightly, before adding with a low bow, ‘-my king.’

‘By the nine realms Anthony, I’ve _never_ had your obeisance and I shall not have it now!’

Tony straightened so fast he almost had whiplash. ‘I didn’t mean-‘

‘Why did you accept my father’s offer?’ Loki abruptly demanded, suddenly standing so close that he could feel the cold breath on his face. ‘Why did you come to Jötunheimr? _Tell me the truth.’_

Something in him cracked then, and Tony’s defiance and the remnants of his pride crumpled before them, and this time when he sank to his knees, Loki didn’t stop him.

‘To run away,’ Tony said simply, voicing the shame he had hidden in his heart for so long. ‘I made a mistake, once. Many people- died as a result. I thought here-‘ he broke off, shaking his head. _‘Clearly_ I knew nothing about Jotuns when I arrived, else I would've never- Jötunheimr was supposed to be nothing more than a cold, numb cave to crawl into and-‘

Tony faltered and swallowed, ‘and lick my wounds.’

Green eyes held his own effortlessly. Commanding him. _‘Say it.’_

 ‘I came here to die, alright?’ He has shattered at last, hollowed out with nothing left to give. ‘I came here to _die_ , and you saved me, I don’t know how; maybe just by being bloody impossible. By giving me purpose. And for this though you are Jotun, indeed you are my _king.’_

Loki left him on his knees and moved away, his eyes reaching out into the distant plains beyond. Surveying the kingdom that was truly belonged to him now.

‘Shall I tell you how it really feels, to be crowned? It is akin to a great hollowing out. As if a fountain has been made of my blood that is to quench all of Jötunheimr. As long as I wear the crown, a hundred links of chains wrap themselves around me, pulling me in every direction. The will of the many struggles against the desires of the few. The past and futures collide. I see the hands of my forefathers in the cut of every stone around me; ceaseless commands etched into every rune that runs through the four corners of my realm. I hear their whispers in my sleep. I am a king – and I have not even started, but already I begin to _erode.’_

‘Your majesty-’

‘I fear I might be nothing more than an axis, from which all things must flow. I fear I will _feel_ _nothing_ by the time I am my father.’ The King of Jotunheirm returned and sank slowly to his knees before Tony. ‘But you challenge me constantly. And you make me feel. I am less- I am lesser, without you.’

Tony’s mouth fell opened. ‘I-‘

‘Let me speak before my words fail me. I have-  _needs_  yet of you, Anthony,’ Loki’s voice is hoarse, his tone wondering and almost desperate. ‘If you are right, and you usually are, then the new king of Jötunheimr is a untried fool _,_ and would need you more than ever now that he has taken the throne. I do not _want_ to be just a link in a _chain.’_

‘A year you resided here,’ Loki’s whisper was like the softly falling frost, wet and tender and burning with cold. ‘A year I had you within arm’s reach, yet only mere hours ago did the scales finally fall from my eyes.’

‘Your majesty-‘ Tony croaked, but his lips were silenced by one of Loki’s cold fingers.

‘Do not _call_ me that,’ the king of Jötunheimr groaned. ‘Do not create more distance between us. I will not have it Anthony, I would have-‘

He trailed off. Tony could feel his eyes on his mortal lips, could feel Loki shudder under the fracturing resistance of whatever emotions he so desperately contained; and here was the _king,_ cracking apart like ice before Tony’s eyes.

He felt Loki’s cold hands cupping the back his neck, fingers digging into the hair at his nape and pulling him forward, and one final burst of desperate resistance rushed out of him.

‘Have you forgotten your Jotun pride?’

‘Foolish human, I AM the Jotun pride,’ Loki whispered, and then cold lips was prying his own open, groaning into the hot, wet contact. Their tongues curled around each other, persuading and punishing, heated against chilled, and when Loki finally pulls away he heard his own name whispered into the shared space of air between them as an offering.

The heavy look in the king’s eyes was unmistakable and filled Tony simultaneously with hope and dread. ‘You are of Midgard and therefore I am not your king. But I would be something else, if you would consent to it.’

Tony licked his lips, his eyes eagerly tracing the way Loki’s gaze followed its every movement, face taut. ‘W- what would you propose?’

Loki's eyes searched him, and then his face hardened in resolve. ‘Give me permission to court you.’

Utter shock had Tony dropping his hands and gaping at the king with his mouth open. ‘You _cannot do that.’_

‘Who will dare gainsay me now? I am the _king.’_

‘You can dare all you like; it is _I_ whom Laufey will have executed-’

‘Peace, Anthony. I do not doubt that my- _attentions_ will put you in far more perilous a position than my indifference. At least for now.’

But Tony was barely getting started. He pushed away from the prince, voice agitated. ‘I will not be your harem, or some illicit whore-‘

‘I do not wish that for you, but there is little precedence in such circumstance and much that needs looking into,‘ Loki returned in a low and urgent voice, ‘if you would but give me time _to figure it out.’_

And he knew it was vile, it was treason yet Tony found himself croaking; ‘What would you have of me?’

‘Everything,’ the king said fervently. ‘Every drop of you, I would possess. Join your power to mine, your wit to my wit, pour your thoughts on my ears by day, press your lips to mine by night. Bolster me that I do not falter; turn me from the path of greed or madness. Leash me to you. I would have nothing less.’

Bewildered, he shook his head. ‘You _cannot_ mean-’

‘A master strategist, yet he cruelly makes me spell it out? Share the cold and unyielding throne of Jötunheimr with me.’

Shock rooted him on the spot. Then inexplicably came tears, unbidden and unwanted. He refused to blink them away. ‘You are full of surprises, my king.’

‘Will that buy me time?’ Loki asked wryly, lips quirked in his usual approximation of amusement although the weight of his eyes was sombre. ‘I know you mean to refuse, yet hear me out and give me time. A year. A month. Perhaps one day, you could show me one of your midgardian sunrises.’

Tony did not know how to reply. It was an offer beyond his comprehension, and it would only be made once.  

‘Let us-‘ he sucked in his breath as the Jotun King assisted him to his feet. ‘Let us give each other time.’

Loki inclined his head in ironic acceptance, his features once again settled into stone. ‘I will walk you to your portal.’

It was the most miserable walk in the history of Tony’s life; yet despite that it was one that was over too soon.

He stepped into the portal and turned around, lips clamped shut around a hundred things he could not say. ‘Goodbye, your majesty.’

Loki simply regarded him, jaw tensing. ‘All the power of the realm, yet none that would let me keep you.’

Tony stood stiffly, arms folded and fingers clenching into elbows as the portal hummed alive around him. He forced himself to look away after one final nod to the king.

It was not the time to look on the hundred decisions they’d made between them that took them to his point. There would be time and opportunity enough later to question them.

For now, it was time to go home.

‘Anthony!’

His eyes flicked up, in time to see the Jotun king pressing his palms onto the portal doors.

‘I shall fortify my rulership upon my realm, and then I am coming for you, consequences be dammed,’ Loki swore before the portal brought the gates down between them. ‘You _will_ not so easily elude me, Stark!’

And then the seiðr enveloped his body, hunter’s green, and he could see no more.

*

The warmth settled on his skin like a wet blanket, mildly suffocating after a year of dry, cold air.

Tony closed his eyes, savouring the cries of the over-wheeling birds, the din of industry around him as the world slowly awakened before him. All the sweet sounds of home.

He had missed this. Home. Missed it more than he believed himself capable.

He thought of Loki, of the conflicts he would face alone and the false friends that would one day deceive him. He thought of deals and barters and betrayals, of conquests and sacrifice. He thought of the new kingdoms that a young and ambitious king could carve out of iron and ice.

Loki would wrought change, he knew, and leave his mark upon the nine realms, and some of them would be terrible and some of them great. But more certain than this is the fact that  _all_ would watch the new Jotun king in wonder as he stole the breath from their lungs.

For now however, he was out of Tony’s reach.

Whatever was to be Loki’s destiny, it was his alone to create, and Tony could only watch and wait for the cards to fall where they may.

One day, there would be reason enough to be compelled back into the fray. One day, the king of Jötunheimr would come for him. Tony knew he would give it all up again, in a heartbeat. Before the first syllable of Loki’s summons fell from his lips.

As he leaned into the balcony to watch the mortal world at play, Tony smiled into the brilliant sunrise.

_Give em hell._

 

[FINI]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: MERRY XMAS TO YOU ALL!!! A tremendous THANK YOU to my betas [Farcical_Owl](http://archiveofourown.org/users/farcical_owl/pseuds/farcical_owl) and GoodFrostedCats/[Foiblesse](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Foiblesse/pseuds/Foiblesse) for doing this on such short notice, and for putting up with me, my multiple commas, and my 3 am mumbles. 
> 
> If there's sufficient interest, I'll look into a sequel sometime next year ;)
> 
> AN: To ‘Ice Mint Tea’ readers, I’m sorry!!!! I promise, no more detours. :P
> 
>  
> 
> [Tumblr: Lokitini](http://lokitini.tumblr.com/)


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